


If You Love Me

by LadyACDoyle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Story: The Adventure of the Dying Detective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8058706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyACDoyle/pseuds/LadyACDoyle
Summary: A week after the events of The Abominable Bride, John Watson waits for news of Moriarty and Sherlock's fate after his near-exile. Sitting by the phone, hoping that he will have a chance to help in this case of all cases, as each day passes he becomes more and more anxious. Then, he finally gets a text. "He's dying. Get here as fast as you can"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I have never written in this fandom before and the last time I wrote fanfics it was in middle school for Harry Potter in the MWPP universe! This is more than a WIP, its a super WIP. I have always wanted to write a case-fic fix-it for TAB and so here it goes! 
> 
> Obviously characters are not my own, Sherlock BBC is not mine, and many of the ideas for plot points have credit in the amazing metas and fan works that have come out during this hiatus. So, basically, nothing is mine!
> 
> Rating is for later chapters, but I love that UST and slow build magic so get ready!

“No!” John screamed, the sound of his own voice bringing him to sudden, crushing wakefulness. His mind was spinning. He grasped around him with fumbling hands for his phone. No missed calls. It had just been a dream. Relaxing a bit, he fell back into his well-worn indentation in the mattress and closed his eyes tightly, trying and failing to keep the sun streaming through the half-opened blinds from creeping in.

John lifted his head slightly from the pillow and peered blinkingly at the alarm clock on his bedside table. 9:02. He closed his eyes again and pulled the quilt over his eyes. ‘Damn this quilt. Made by your mother for Christmas one year. I’m sure it was’ He threw it from him in a quick fit of anger.

He rose from the bed, immediately hit with a wave of nausea and dizziness. Stumbling to the bathroom, he steadied himself on the countertop and took a few deep breaths. ‘Get yourself together. You’re no use to anyone this way’

He scrubbed his face with his dry hands, trying to force himself into a higher state of alertness with heavy pressure along his temples and cheekbones. Catching himself in the mirror he almost didn’t recognize himself. The man looking back at him was somehow even grayer than ever and worn-out. He looked tired and wan and as if he had not eaten a proper meal in a while. Almost like--

John turned on the water and splashed his face then carefully prepared his shaving materials. The scruff that had grown in over the past week had become almost a short beard, and only added to his general unkempt visage. He knew it had to go.

As he drew the razor across his face, neck and jawline, John couldn’t help but think of another shave. Back when things were much simpler and his wife wasn’t a murderer. Or pregnant. Or missing. Back when shaving for Sherlock Holmes was the biggest thing he had to deny in a day.

A sudden ping from the bedroom startled him and John winced as he nicks his jaw. With a flannel grabbed from a hook on the wall, he rubbed at the remaining shaving lotion and the newly bleeding spot and raced back to the adjoining bedroom to pick up his phone. 

Mrs. Hudson. ‘Damn’, having expected someone else. He opened the message regardless and had to stop himself from dropping the phone as he read "He's dying. Get here as fast as you can."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read or left kudos! It was so nice to know that some people liked what they read!
> 
> Here is Chapter Two, a little bit longer for you! Updates will come at least once a week and this will be under 20 chapters!

John dialed the phone with newfound surety to his movements. As he waited for it to ring he tried not to think about why it was that he felt more confident in crisis-mode than in everyday life. 

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Hudson. What the devil do you mean--”

 “John, dear, he’s dying. I can’t explain it. You’ve got to get here.”

“Drugs? An overdose?”

 “I don’t know what’s wrong with him! He can’t get out of bed.”

“Just call 999! I’m miles away.”

“John Watson, I am telling you to get down here. Right now!”

 

He heard the tell-tale click on the other end and sighed. He looked around the dodgy hotel room he had been staying in for the past few days and took a deep breath in and out. With a slap of his hands on his knees, he stood and walked to the chair where he had left his jacket.

 

‘Into battle’

 

~*~*~*~

 

As he approached the familiar door, he swallowed down the rush of anxiety that filled him at the sight of the off-kilter knocker. Pulling out his key, he tried the lock only to find that the key did not fit. He tried again, jiggling the key back and forth. After a third try, giving some more force the exercise to no avail, John gave up and rapped three times on the door with the knocker.

 

He could hear Mrs. Hudson puttering around inside and he rocked back and forth on his feet in agitation.

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He could hear her calling through the heavy door as she opened the double locks and finally opened the door.

 

“What, did you change the locks?” He held back a wince as he heard the barely-restrained anger in his own words.

 

“Well, of course we did, dear! With previously dead mad-men running about!” She pulled him inside, helping him out of his coat.

 

“Ta for giving me the heads up.”

“Well, dear, you haven’t quite lived here for a long time.” She fixed him with a sharp gaze and he could think of no appropriate response in defense of himself. She was, after all, correct. He didn’t live anywhere at this point--relegated to quasi-bachelorhood in a hotel.

 

“Anyway, dear. That’s not why I called you.” She hung up his coat on a hook and turned to him, hands on hips.

 

“What’s this about him dying?” The unsaid “for about the millionth time” hung heavy in the air between them.

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him! He won’t get out bed, he won’t eat, I doubt he’s slept since he got home, and he’s paler than ever!”

“Sounds like Sherlock. You have met him before, haven’t you?”

“John Watson, I have known Sherlock much longer than you have and I know when something is wrong! If he was just acting like his regular self, do you think I’d call you down here? Especially after you’ve have a row.”

 “We haven’t had a row!” John stepped back and rubbed his temple. “Did he tell you we had a row? News to me!”

 “He came back from the airport, barely said a word at all, and locked himself in upstairs. When I tried to bring him tea, he wouldn’t let me in. Just called through the door and told me to sod off.” Her lingering offense was audible.

 

“And where do I come in?” 

“Well, I tried again a little while later and he, still screaming through the door, told me to put the word out--no one was to be admitted to his rooms. _Especially_ you.”

“Especially me?” 

“Yes, he was very specific. And you should have heard his tone! How he speaks to me, that little devil--”

 

At this, Mrs. Hudson began to tear up and quickly covered her mouth.

“John, you’ve got to help him. He finally let me in this morning and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Wasted away! Positively wasted away. Even worse than when he ran away from hospital after he got himself shot.”

John closed his eyes as his heart fell to the pit of his stomach. He had been doing his best not to think of Mary since she had left five days ago. The contents of her note flashed into his mind, memorized from the countless times he had read it that first day.

_‘I’ve got to go. I’m sorry. We love you.’_

 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and stepped forward towards Mrs. Hudson.

“Bring me to him.”


End file.
